


Writing/Sketching Exercises

by leaper182, thejerseydevile



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen, It's got pictures in it!, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2195484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/pseuds/leaper182, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejerseydevile/pseuds/thejerseydevile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is going to be our "writing sketching exercises" that we're batting back and forth on Tumblr. We don't know if this is going to be a thing, but we're certainly having fun with it!</p><p>If you're looking for the exercises on tumblr, feel free to take a gander under the "writing sketching exercise" tag at http://leaper182.tumblr.com or at http://thejerseydeviledoodleblog.tumblr.com .</p><p>The rules are simple. Write a segment (or draw some art), then pass it to the other. This goes three times until there are three sections of writing, and three sections of artwork. (We might or might not change this later on, but for now, it works for us.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Braid

"It’s not that difficult," Bofur said easily, wrapping his arms around Bilbo and taking a hold of the hair in Bilbo’s grip with deft fingers. "Start from the outside and bring it over and in, see? And just go left, then right, all the way until you’ve run out of hair."

Bilbo closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to lean backwards against his friend and just soak in the abundance of energy the dwarf was radiating, warm and soft like sunlight.

"Bilbo?" Bofur asked. "You all right?"

Bilbo can barely speak around the warmth in his chest, around the warmth that he can feel near his back. The small, gentle, barely-there tugs feel like they’re tugging at his heartstrings, and it’s almost too much to bear.

"There’s not really much call for me to braid hair," he manages, and Bofur is a patient, steady presence behind him. "It’s usually mothers and sisters and aunts that braid a faunt’s hair, and that’s not even touching that I’m—"

He stops himself in time. He’s kept his secret well enough from this company of dwarves, but if they were to find out… He doesn’t want to think about it. “Well, a bachelor by himself carries a certain responsibility. To propriety. And it’s not like I even _see_ my nieces all that often…”

The warm hands on his shoulders made the absence of fingers playing with his hair all the more prominent. Bilbo’s ears perked, and there— he could feel the tug of something in his hair. The quick, nimble fingers in his hair had had a purpose after all.

"Bofur…?" Bilbo asked, not sure if he wanted voice his confusion out loud. Of course, that made the confusion in his voice all the more apparent.

"Aye?" Bofur asked, sounding much too innocent for his own good.

Biting his lip for a moment, Bilbo turned to look over his shoulder. “Did you…?”


	2. Diplomatic Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's abbreviated, but this time, it's Thorin and Bifur!

Thorin knows that his personal guard are getting looks during court. The dwarves returning home from Ered Luin and the Iron Hills haven’t been able to take their eyes off of them. Each time it happens, Thorin has made sure to remind them of their purpose in returning to the Lonely Mountain.

Deep down, Thorin can’t fault them for their curiosity. Dwalin stands to his right, fitting in so neatly to the throne room that Thorin can’t imagine him anywhere else.

Bifur, standing with tense rigidity to his left, is a complete mystery, even to him.

Thorin hears the outraged whispers amongst the dwarves who were begging for an audience with him not five minutes ago, and mentally shoves them aside. Bifur has never reacted without cause, whether alone on watch, or with the company.

Thorin still finds himself ready to murmur for Bifur to calm himself, but it dies on his lips when he sees what Bifur has focused on.

The elves of Mirkwood, led by Thranduil’s son, have arrived, and are moments away from causing what Dis would call a “diplomatic incident”.


End file.
